From Never to Forever
by Imaginariet
Summary: Felicia Robina has always been giving to her family, reluctant as she may be, but there is one thing she will never comprimise and that is her hatred of her father's criminal profession. Will Tommy's presense be enough to change her mind? Ch. 6 rewrite.
1. Chapter One: Mama's Funeral

Disclaimer: We all know how this goes. I own Felicia but the Robina name, as far as I know, belongs to rockstar games, as well as Umberto Robina and Pepe Robina. Etc Etc, I'll make it short. The end.

* * *

_"Felicia..." The voice spoke on the other end of the phone. "Felicia it's me," he continued._

_"Yeah, Pepe, what's wrong?" It was Pepe, one of two of her brothers. She could hear the trouble brimming in his voice as he spoke._

_"I have bad news, hermana. It's about mom." Felicia's heart dropped to her stomach. She could tell by the tone of hisvoice that something was severly wrong.Her body began to tremble as she tried to keep a grip of the receiver. She'd never felt so nauseous in her life. No, she took that back -- only once._

_"What's wrong?" she asked with a shaky voice. The line was silent except for the faint static of her brother breathing on the other end._

_"She died, Felicia." Suddenly she found it hard to breathe herself. She hadn't been to see her mother since she left for college, and here she was, still in her Liberty apartment, regret filling her entirety. She closed her eyes and forced back the flood of tears that threatened to break through as she tried to maintain her balance. She swore, for just a moment, her heart had stopped beating. If only. "Felicia? Felicia are you there? Are you okay?" the voice of her brother called from the other line. Felicia nodded briefly before realizing her brother couldn't see her through the phone._

_"Yes, yes I'm here." She knew she should say more, but the words wouldn't come. Why? Why didn't she take a weekend and visit her mother? Why didn't she pick up a phone and call her to tell her she loved her? Just why? All these questions overflowed into her mind, yet somehow she couldn't force them from her lips. She'd always known death came too quickly, she'd always known she had to take advantage of the time she had. God, how she knew this. So why didn't she?_

_"You're going to the funeral, right?" her brother's voice piped in once again. This time she'd almost forgotten she was on the phone at all. After a silence apparently too long for her brother's preference, he spoke again. "You owe it to mom, hermana. You owe it to her." Felicia nodded once again; not to her brother, but to herself. She did. She owed it to her mother. She'd be on the next flight from Liberty to Vice City as soon as possible. Her mother deserved to look down and see the love she had so earned. Felicia deserved one last goodbye, and by God she would get it._

Felicia remembered that day all too vividly, and now, all of a sudden, here she was standing in front of her mother's casket. Her face, though made up beautifully, looked pale and cold. Just like...

"You came." Felicia turned around to see Pepe's sombered face staring at her through sunglasses. She knew he had been crying, and damned if any Cuban would be seen crying -- even at their own mother's funeral.

"Of course I did," she replied. "Mother deserves to see receive every bit of love she gave, even if it's too late for her to receive it in life." Pepe nodded. Before Felicia could say anything more, Pepe leaned forward and wrapped his sister up in a much-needed hug. As her brother held her a single tear ran down her cheek. A tear of sorrow; of regret. Soon she pulled away from her brother's grip, sniffling hard to bite back the flow of tears that threatened to gush. _No, I won't cry. Not here, not now._

"You know, pop is here," Pepe stated. Felicia sighed heavily, indicating to Pepe that she'd rather not know that. "You made a mistake with mom, hermana. Don't make a mistake with pop too." There were times when she hated how her brother could read her mind. Then there were times when she appreciated it more so than anything in the world. Anything she could have, anyway.

"Nieta!" called a voice from behind her. "Nieta, usted esta aqui." Felicia turned around to greet her gray haired grandfather, coming at her from behind with arms outreached and heart wide open, as always. Felicia loved her grandfather, he was always good hearted like her mother, but he had a patience that, Felicia would imagine, no other Cuban possessed. He was a saint in his own right, and she loved him more for it everyday.

She extended her own arms and embraced her grandfather. He smelled of Barbasol and "old man" cologne, but the fragrance was familiar and welcoming to her.

"Si," she began as her grandfather pulled back and held her at arms length, looking at her as if he were eyeing her up for any deplorable changes, "por supuesto, abuelo." Her grandfather, after a long stare, finally nodded and smiled. He continued to speak to her in his native tongue, as he didn't know very much English. Felicia was a bit rusty on her Spanish, but she understood nearly every word he said.

After a somewhat long conversation with her grandfather, a small group of men in the shady shelter of a palm tree in the distance caught her eye. She stared at the small group of men who seemed as if they were exchanging something, until she made out the large, round figure in the middle. Her eyebrows furrowed and her fists clenched at her side. She had a notion to walk over there and lay into him, but she wouldn't disgrace her mother that way. Not today, not on this day of all days.

Pepe, noticing his sister's near loss of control, walked over and placed his hands on either of her shoulders from behind.

"This is mom's day, hermana. Don't let your temper get the best of you." Felicia nodded. She had already decided he was right before the words left his lips. After allowing her a long, hard stare at the ground, Pepe hugged her shoulders and shifted his weight to nudge her away from the scene under the palm tree.

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Hours after the funeral had ended, only a few relatives remained scattered over the grounds. Felicia, of course, was one of them.

_Why did he have to do this, today of all days? How can he disrespect a woman he was meant to love for so many years? I will never be what he is. Never._

Felicia sat alone on a chair nearest the brick wall of the building next to her. She didn't even recognize the place. It had only been 3 years since she left, but ever since she got back everything seemed so unfamiliar and out of place. After all, she was happy in Liberty. She was away from the Cubans and the Haitians, the killing and the crime. Granted, Liberty City was by no means an angelic paradise but at the very least she didn't have to be wrapped up right in the middle of it. Sure, there were drive-by shootings every once in a while. You'd see the occasional pimp with his ho's, the occasionally drug dealer doing his thing in the shady confines of the inner-Staunton park.

But most of all, she didn't have to know anything going on in Vice City and her family. Of course she loved her family, that was unavoidable, but in all honesty part of her wished Pepe wouldn't have called her. She could've just gone on living her life in total oblivion. No, she was wrong. She didn't want to not be informed. But she wasn't sure she wanted to be informed either. Hell, the bottom line was she didn't want her mother to die. She didn't want anybody to die, not on the behalf of what so many men were dying -- money, greed, hatred; the reasons were endless, as were the body bags. She hated every inch of it.

"Ahem," came a burly voice above her. Felicia's jaw tightened and her muscles tensed. _"Oh Lord, not now," she begged._ Slowly her chocolate brown eyes rose from the floor to the face of the husky man in front of her. She felt as if she stared hard enough she could burn a hole right through him. "Felicia..." the voice began. "Daughter." Felicia's skin burned at the word. _How could he?_

"How could you?" The words escaped her lips before she had the chance to choke them back. "How could you disrespect mom like that? You loved her, but you'd perform the very thing that killed her right at her funeral?" She figured she'd already started, why not finish?

"Felicia, she died of a stroke..."

"Yeah, sure, that's what medically killed her. But you know and I know what **really** killed her." The stocky man just dropped his head and sighed. "You killed her, _dad_. YOU killed mom. And you didn't even have the decency to give her one last day of peace." The chocolate brown eyes that matched her own narrowed at her, and a finger was pointed in her face.

"You don't talk to me like that, hija. I am your father!" he snapped.

"And my mother is dead because of you! Because of the things you do, you refuse to stop. She hated those things and you wouldn't even give her the rights she had to have a peaceful, crime free funeral. Her last day of peace and you corrupted it." Her father scowled at her.

"You say that now. YOU SAY THAT NOW! But one day, daughter. One day you might have to do what I do."

"Never. Never! I will NEVER do what you do." Felicia took a step forward and thrust her self up in his face, lowering her voice to a near growl and snarling at him through clenched teeth. "I promised myself years ago when Philippe... You will never suck me in like you did Pepe. I never would've come back if it weren't for Pepe. Mull that over on your next drug deal, _daddy_," she spat. Her father's eyes widened as his heart sunk the rest of the way into his stomach. He couldn't believe his ears.

Before he could speak Felicia turned and stormed away, fading out of sight into the nighttime shadows. He had to admit, she had her mother's strong will and courage, but her mouth was too big for her judgment. No less, he turned the other way and began to fade away in his own direction as he headed for the Café Robina. There he would talk the night away with his own father.

* * *

A/N: I've taken a break from writing Three Deadly Fates for a while. I think, reading back on the story, I've lost sight of why I started writing the story. So I've decided to try and write a purely Romantic fiction between Tommy and an original character and see how that goes. I've also decided, after reading an article on here, that I'll put my authors notes at the bottom. I also can't remember for sure if Pepe is Umberto's son in the game or if they make reference to Pepe being his only son/child, since I couldn't open the game because my comp is a piece o' crap. I had to use a translator for the majority of the Spanish in this chapter, so if I'm off on anything or you don't understand what they're saying just hit up any old translator. :) 


	2. Chapter Two: I'll Think About It

"I can't believe you said that to pop," Pepe nearly reprimanded.

"And I can't believe he would bring that God forsaken business of his to mom's funeral," Felicia replied relentlessly. Pepe sighed at his sister's stubbornness. She was truly relentless when it came to matters she believed strongly in. It was a definitive trait of their mother's, too. "He had no right, Pepe. He took away mom's right to a peaceful, clean funeral. He owed her that much." Pepe just looked at his sister before turning his attention back to cleaning his gun collection.

Felicia never minded watching him clean his gun collection. Somehow, no matter how much she hated what they were used for, she never looked at the guns for what they were really worth. Maybe this was because she grew up around them -- she knew them. Or maybe because she was smart enough to know that guns don't fire themselves, and she trusted her brother whole-heartedly.

"Pop, he doesn't know what he does," Pepe chimed in all of a sudden. "He loved mama as much as we did, maybe more. He didn't know." Felicia's eyes narrowed, but not at anyone in particular. She turned her gaze to the blinds covering the filth-tinted windows.

"How couldn't he have known, Pepe? He knew mom as well as any of us, how couldn't he have known how she hated it?" Pepe sighed and shrugged.

"You know pop. He doesn't think sometimes, you know?" Felicia looked at her brother and then nodded. It was true; her father wasn't necessarily on the smart side. And he did love her, he still does. Maybe he really didn't know. "Forgive him, Felicia." This time Pepe looked her straight in the eye. She knew what he was thinking without him having to utter a word. He didn't want her to make the same mistake with her father that she did with her mother. He didn't want her to go away to college on bad terms with her father and not talk to him again before he passed away. "Go see him tomorrow?" Felicia's eyes must've dodged to every object in the tiny room before finally settling on her own hands folded in her lap.

"We'll see." She sat and played with her hands in her lap for a few more moments until she rose from the chair and kissed her brother on the cheek. "Goodnight, brother."

"Buenos noche, hermana. Goodnight."

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Felicia awoke around noon the next day. She probably wouldn't have awoken that early if it hadn't been for the ear-splitting bangs of the shoot out going on outside her window.

Despite the chaos of the Little Havana streets, the sun shone down on her, unabated, through the tousled blinds over the windows and warmed her, though it was already about 90º in her room. The building her brother lived in was supposed to have air conditioning, but it was also supposed to have a pool and a great view. If you stood on the roof you could see a vague portion of the ocean, and there was an old, dirty children's wading pool out back with stagnate water in it. Felicia was beginning to assume the air conditioning meant you could leave your refrigerator door open and stand in front of it to cool off.

She mulled over all the thoughts that penetrated her mind since she'd gotten there for the first time since... well, since she'd gotten there. As she listened to the gunshots and screams outside she remembered why she hated it so bad in this hellish place.

After lying in bed for what seemed like a half an hour, she finally mustered up the energy to get up out of bed. She was up late the night before thinking about what she and her brother talked about. He was right -- she should apologize. She should have respect for her father, even if at times she felt he didn't deserve it. So she would, she decided.

Upon her arrival in the living room/dining room/kitchen area of the apartment, Felicia found a note pinned to the wooden exterior of the front door. It read as follows:

_Felicia,_

_Poppa called, I had to leave early, too early to wake you. There's a little food in the icebox if you're hungry, but be careful with the stove. It_

_catches fire sometimes. It's old, you know? Adios, hermana._

_Pepe_

_P.S. Think about what I said, Felicia. Pop, he loves you. He'll forgive you. You forgive him._

Putting aside wondering why her grandfather needed him; Felicia smiled at her brother's atrocious handwriting. She was grateful, however, for the warning about the stove. She found out later that afternoon that he was right, it did catch fire every once in a while.

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Hours later, around 5 in fact, Felicia found herself standing across the street from the Robina Cafe. She stared at the humble business. The sign was still there, same as always. She shifted her gaze a little higher to the blue apartment building above Robina's. Her father and grandfather occupied the one directly above the front of the café, while the rest occupied by numerous other Cuban residents. Before she left for college, she, her mother and her father lived in their own home right on the edge of Little Havana. But after she went to college, her mother and father moved in with her grandfather. Since Pepe had moved out to be on his own as well they had no reason to spend useful money for unnecessaries. Felicia smiled faintly at the memories of her family being together, when her father wasn't lost in his "business," of course.

"Nieta! You come in or you watch?" her grandfather called from across the street. Felicia laughed.

"Si, I'm coming Poppa."

"Bueno, I speak with you," he called back. His English wasn't great, but it was much better than when she left. Felicia walked across the street, dodging cars and hoping nobody's gun finger suddenly became itchy. Low and behold, she made it across safely -- or at least alive -- and entered the cafe.

"Sit, nieta. I speak with you." Felicia sat in the corner booth near the front of the cafe. This was the family's official seat and nobody sat in this booth unless they were invited to by the family or were an extremely close family friend. "What is this your Poppa hear?" Felicia furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"I don't know wh..."

"Your papa, he uh, he tell me what you say. Ayer, no?" Felicia sighed and put her head down.

"Poppa I was upset, it was mother's funeral and he was doing his _business_. I still don't know how he could do that to her, she deserved so much better than that. Why couldn't he just wait for a couple hours if he absolutely **had** to..." Her grandfather stopped her.

"Nieta, my English. Not so good, si?" Felicia smiled faintly, embarrassed that she had forgotten. "Lento." Felicia nodded and thought, trying to choose her words wisely.

"I was mad at him Poppa." Her grandfather thought for a moment before nodding.

"Si, continue."

"He was doing business," her grandfather nodded. "At mama's funeral, Poppa. He did business at mama's funeral." Her grandfather looked at her for a moment before finally nodding his head. "You know how mom hated his _business_." Her grandfather nodded again. He understood why she would be mad. If he had seen it himself he would have been mad, too.

"He your papa, you respect him. Entienda?" Felicia kept her eyes glued to the table, refusing to look at her grandfather. "Felicia... entienda?" he asked again, sternly this time. Felicia finally nodded reluctantly. "Bueno. Now, why you here?"

"I wanted to apologize to dad. Where is he anyway?"

"In the oficina, the back room. Busy with, uh, something or other," he replied. "I get him, si?" Felicia nodded. Moments later her father walked out. She immediately stood and faced him.

"Dad..."

"Felicia," he paused. "Lots of paperwork, you know?" Felicia nodded.

"Yeah." The both stood in silence momentarily until Felicia mustered up the nerve to apologize. "I'm, um..." Her father looked at her. "I apologize... for speaking disrespectfully to you." Her father nodded before charging over to her and hugging her. She had to admit, he wasn't the most graceful Cuban to treat the earth.

"You... you staying long?"

"I doubt it. Why do you ask?" He frowned and dropped his head slightly. Felicia could see in his face he was disappointed.

"Well if you are, I thought, maybe you need a job? Maybe... maybe you work for me? You know, here -- at the cafe." Felicia raised her eyebrows and twisted her features into her "thinking face."

"Well dad, I don't know..."

"Your brother, he need you here. And Papi, he misses you. He maybe don't have long, you know?" Felicia stared at her father. Through all the excuses and ways around it he threw at her, she knew it was him he spoke of, not her brother or her grandfather. "So, yes?" Felicia looked at him.

"Um... I'll think about it."

* * *

A/N: This chapter is kind of long, I didn't realize that when I was writing it. In fact, it would've been longer if I didn't cut it off here, but I thought this would be a bit of a cliff hanger to see what she decides. Again, I used a translator for the Spanish in this chapter, so hit up SmarterChild if you need help with it. If I messed up on any of it please let me know, I know very very little Spanish. This counts for all future chapters as well. And any other helpful criticism is much appreciated as well, but no flames please, I'm very sensitive about my babies LOL. :)

I also managed to get my game open today and worked up to the Cuban missions, I'm hoping to capture Umberto's character a little better.


	3. Chapter Three: The Hardest Decision of H...

Her week's vacation was almost over and all Felicia could think about was her father needing her. Sure, she was still a little angry with him for the funeral incident, but her mother had always taught her "to apologize is to forgive, to forgive is to let go, and to let go is to forget." She even remembered the circumstance of which her mother told her that for the first time.

"Mama, Pepe tore her head off," a 4-year-old Felicia cried to her mother, thrusting her decapitated Raggedy Anne doll in her face. Her mom took the doll from her and nodded.

"I'll fix her, honey," she replied, running a hand over her daughter's head.

"Punish Pepe, mama. Make him clean the toilet after papa come out, si?" Her mother laughed whole-heartedly, looking down at Felicia with warm brown eyes.

"Don't you think that's a little rough?" Felicia's little face turned to a pucker as she thought about it. She finally shook her head and looked up at her mother with matching warm, brown eyes.

"No, he hurt dolly," she yelled back, her eyes brimming with the tears of a first lost love. Her mother sighed and scooped her daughter up into her arms.

"Ah, mi amor. Your dolly can be fixed, but if you say mean things to or about your brother, maybe they won't be so easy to fix." She looked into her daughter's eyes, a tiny mirror of herself, searching for a sign of understanding. Felicia shook her head and poked her lip out into a pout. "You forgive your brother, okay?" Felicia turned her head away and crossed her arms. "...Okay?"

"Okay, I forgive him. But I WON'T forget it." Her mother hugged her close.

"Mi niña, you need to understand. If you forgive him, you must forget. Something my mother always taught me: to apologize is to forgive, to forgive is to let go, and to let go is to forget. My mother was right, and you should forgive your brother." Little Felicia frowned, but finally nodded and hugged her mother before limping her body to slip to the floor.

"Okay, mama. I forgive him, AND forget." Her mother smiled and turned to find her sewing chest so she could mend the doll while Felicia ran into the other room. She didn't want to witness her dolly being fixed, so she went to play with her forgiven brother.

Felicia remembered her mother fondly. Her mother wasn't from Little Havana, or even Vice City itself. In fact, she was from Louisiana. She remembered her mother could cook a mean jambalaya, but at the same time cook the most delicious Mexican food she'd ever tasted. Food had always been a large part of her life, as one could see by her father.

Remembering her mother, however, did not make her decision any easier. She loved her father, no doubt, but she also loved learning and being in college. _It would probably help dad more if I stayed in college._ No, she thought, he wouldn't see it that way. She just didn't know what to do, so she decided to go to the one person who knew her better than she knew herself -- her brother.

----------

"Pepe, I don't know what to do." Her brother nodded. Felicia could see in his face he was thinking; contemplating her situation.

"So," he began. "You think about this, right?" Felicia nodded in reply. "So you want me to make your decision." She just stared at him for a moment, taken aback by this. She hadn't realized it, but that is what she wanted him to do. However, considering her unrelenting Cuban pride, she'd never admit she was letting any other human being make a decision for her.

"No, it's not that. I just, you know... I like to hear what you think. It almost always helps." Pepe smiled, knowing it was her way of agreeing with him.

"In that case, I think pop is right. You should stay." Felicia looked at her brother almost angrily. Why did he have to agree with her father? Why couldn't he have done the **right** thing and tell her what she wanted to hear? No, in fact, she didn't know what she wanted to hear. No matter what he would've said it wouldn't have been what she wanted to hear... he was right.

Pepe, on the other hand, almost felt guilty for suggesting she stay. He knew it was partially selfish -- he didn't want to lose his sister for another 3 and a half years. On the other hand, he knew their father wouldn't be able to deal with their mother's death on his own.

As each contemplated Felicia's situation, the phone rang. Pepe stood to answer it.

"Yeah," he answered. "Okay, we'll be right there." He turned to Felicia. "Come on, hermana, we got to get to the hospital. Pop has an accident."

Shortly after they'd arrived at the hospital, Felicia stood in the doorway of the examining room watching the doctor weave the stitches through the back of her father's skull. As her father sat motionless during the stitching, probably not feeling a thing, she allowed her eyes to dart to the receptionist's desk where her brother took care of the paperwork.

"Felicia..." her father called, jerking Felicia back into reality, " Felicia, you shoulda seen it, man. You... you would be proud of your papa. I really got him..."

"Dad," she cut him off, "you were drunk and picked a fight with a man at the cafe and he cracked a beer bottle over your head."

"Man? MAN?! He no man. He fight like a pussy." The doctor laughed behind him as the exasperated man flung his limbs in correspondence with his words.

"You picked a fight with him," she replied flatly before shooting the doctor a dirty look. Her father was about to reply but the doctor's voice cut him off.

"All done, Mr. Robina." Her father attempted to stand from the table but fell over immediately, still nowhere near being sober. Felicia stepped forward to help him up but her brother rushed in from behind and hurried to aid the doctor in helping him up.

"I don't need no help," her father yelled, still allowing Pepe and the doctor to help him stand. "I ain't no baby boy, I don't need no help."

To no surprise, Felicia and Pepe's grandfather came rushing in. He'd just arrived at the hospital after being called from his weekly chess meeting with Santiago Romana, and old friend of the family. Felicia assumed he heard her father's drunken banter from the front doors of the hospital and ran toward the sound.

As soon as Felicia's grandfather spied his son he ran to his side.

"My son, are you okay?" he spoke with a thick accent.

"He's fine, Mr. uh..."

"Robina. He is my son." The doctor nodded.

"... Mr. Robina. He'll just need some strong coffee and a lot of rest to let that wound heal." Her grandfather nodded and attempted to aid his plastered, teeter-tottering son out of the room and to the cab waiting outside.

----------

Before she knew it they were back at the cafe. It was located only a stone's throw from the hospital, which was highly convenient in this particular situation.

As Pepe and her grandfather got her father situated upstairs, Felicia contented herself with a Screwdriver and a little small talk between herself and the bartender on duty that night until they returned. It wasn't long before Pepe walked in the front door of the café, seating himself next to her at the bar and ordering himself a drink. There they sat in silence for a while -- with the exception of a few cars going by and some clutter off in the distance somewhere -- sipping their drinks and watching the bartender wipea nonexistant mess from the counter.

"What you think now, hermana?" Pepe finally spoke, shattering the virtually still silence.

"About?"

"You know... what pop said." Felicia sighed and placed her head in her hands, rubbing her temples with her thumbs.

"I think..." she paused. "Maybe he's right."

"Felicia... you know pop, he only gonna get worse... getting drunk all the time. You remember how he was when mom and him -- they had that big fight, si?" Felicia nodded silently.

"Yeah..." she whispered from behind her hands. She remembered it, how bad he got with it and all the trouble he'd gotten into with it. That was her father's get away: alcohol. It always had been for as long as she could remember, and now that he was older it didn't seem to have gotten any better. She had no way of knowing how long he'd been drinking this time, but it was at least two weeks before he got into a fight last time he'd gone on a binge.

"You need to stay, hermana. He need you right now; we all do." Felicia sighed again and shifted in her seat. The thought unnerved her, but she **had** to stay. She couldn't leave her father alone to get drunk and do God knows what; but most of all she couldn't leave her family alone to deal with that.

"I know." She rose from her stool and downed the last of her screwdriver. "I'll call the school tomorrow and tell them I won't be coming back," she stated flatly, her voice raspy as she forced the words from her mouth.

Before Pepe could turn around and flash her the sympathetic eyes he felt fit for the situation, she had snaked her way out the door and out of sight. He had to admit part of himself was smiling inside, although a much bigger part of himself felt guilty for selfishly suggesting his sister simply stay when it could quite possibly have been the biggest decision of her life. He soon shook these thoughts from his mind. Felicia needed to stay regardless, and that's the end of it.

After his final decision, Pepe himself stood and downed his own drink before heading back upstairs to his father and grandfather's apartment to make sure everything was okay.

----------

The next day Felicia found herself standing in front of the family café, where she'd made her near impossible decision the night before. She had gotten up early that morning and called LCU and informed them she wouldn't be returning and to send her any paperwork that needed taken care of.

She could see the round silhouette of her father moving about inside the building, probably throwing around orders to the bartender and God knows who else might be in there.

After standing in the sidewalk for what seemed like forever, Felicia finally decided she'd never work up the nerve to go in there on free will, so she forced herself to cross the street and enter the café. As soon as she arrived inside she cleared her throat, demanding anyone -- or possibly everyone's attention. Immediately her father turned and looked at her, his hands still raised in mid-command. After a brief pause she forced her heart back down to her chest long enough to state her reasoning.

"I've decided to stay," shebegan coolly, though her heart was racing nearly as fast as it was sinking. She cleared her throat and continued. "Does your job offer still stand?" Her father, taken aback by her sudden decision, stared at her in a mixture of shock and awe before shaking his head and lurching himself forward to stand in front of her.

"My daughter..." He took her in his arms and hugged her, Felicia grimacing as the stench of whiskey and an unfamiliar scent found its way up her nasal cavity. She reluctantly hugged him back before pulling away slightly to end the hug. Her father immediately ran behind the counter and handed her an apron. "This what needs done..."

* * *

A/N: This one is pretty long, too. I considered cutting this one in half but a big problem I have with my other story is that it's 9 chapters into it and Tommy still isn't actually in the story. I don't want it to be that way with this story, so expect to see Tommy within the next chapter... hopefully. ::crosses fingers:: 


	4. Chapter Four: Tommy, Tommy Vercetti

Felicia sat at the bar, sipping on a glass of ice water and hoping hell wasn't as hot as this day. It had been a month since she made her decision to stay in Vice City and she was now working at the Café Robina as a barmaid-slash-waitress full time. Her father was still drinking, not surprisingly. She knew he wouldn't stop just because she stayed, but at least now it was more a means of getting his mind off of things and enjoying himself rather than drowning his entire life out for as long as the alcohol lasted.

Her mind wandering aimlessly in the heat of the café, and soon her eyes began to follow. She gazed out lazily over the nearly vacant business. There were a few regulars in back, all of which she had grown to know over the past month. Her grandfather's checker buddy and best friend Santiago sat at the front corner booth with her grandfather and Santiago's brother, Manuel Romana, enjoying a cup of coffee and a chat. Pepe was out, probably running errands for her father, and her father himself was in the office on the phone.

The weather was unusually scorching that day. Felicia was surprised that her grandfather and his friends sat comfortably in their attire while she was sweating nearly out of her clothes. Her father insisted she wear "respectable" clothing under the apron that nearly wrapped itself around her waist three times, which was perfectly alright with her since she'd never really been one to flaunt what she had. Though on days like this she almost wished she could wear a bikini to work. She had her dark hair tied up, her jean shorts rolled up as high as she could get them and her baggy t-shirt bunched and tied at the side, trying to get air to her naturally tanned skin; and she was still wiping sweat from herself.

Soon her father came barreling out of the office and pointed to the bartender.

"Amigo... where my drink?" he called as he took a seat near his daughter and pointed to the countertop of the bar. The bartender smiled and immediately dipped below the counter to pour his boss's regular drink. Felicia just sat, watching her father tap his fingers on the counter and shift on his stool, as if he were waiting rather impatiently for something... or someone. The café was eerily quiet, except for the sounds of her grandfather and his friends laughing, a few mumbles and giggles coming from the back of the café where the other customers resided, and the distant sound of the jukebox turned down low.

In the month Felicia had been working at her father's café, it had been like this nearly every day. Hardly any customers except for the few regulars who'd either been coming to the café for as long as Felicia could remember and longer, or the regulars who must've begun coming in when Felicia went off to college. Before she left the business was booming. She couldn't understand for the life of her why business was so scarce now. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when there was so little business. The jukebox had even stood virtually untouched until Felicia came back and began listening to it regularly on her breaks, and even turned down low as she worked. She'd always had a great love of music; to her it was almost the equivalent of her father's alcohol -- she could get away from the world, as long as the tune went on.

One thing that hadn't changed, however, was the gang wars between the Cubans and any other gang that dare try to cross them. This time it was the Haitians, who resided in the neighboring section of the island: Little Haiti. It had all happened so quickly. As far as Felicia could read into it, the Haitians were blaming the Cubans for killing their gang lord and were declaring war against them. Felicia had been greeted by shoot-outs and raw crime ever since she'd returned to Vice City, nothing new. But recently the shoot-outs had gotten worse and the crime more severe. The café was fairly safe as it was located more in the heart of Little Havana, but her brother's apartment where she was staying was a little too close to the border of Little Haiti and Little Havana for her comfort.

Suddenly the sound of screeching tires down the street a short ways from the cafe penetrated the previously pleasant silence, startling Felicia nearly off her stool. Apparently this wasn't uncommon, however, as hardly anybody seemed to flinch except for her grandfather who shifted his attention from his friends to whomever it was outside screeching their tires like a maniac. Felicia soon relaxed a little once the screeching had disappeared, almost as quickly as it'd begun. She figured whoever was driving the car either stopped somewhere or faded away down another street. She finally closed her eyes and lulled herself back into relaxation when she heard the heavy footsteps of a man walking into the café. Her grandfather stood immediately to greet him. It wasn't common that strange faces came to the café, and she always assumed her grandfather was suspicious of new people.

"Si men?" her grandfather asked, walking up to the man. Her father stood and stepped closer to her grandfather.

"Hey, easy papi. This man's for me. You... you the boy?" As the man looked around, Felicia couldn't help but notice how good looking he was -- even though his face was hardened and rough and looked as if he hadn't taken a razor to it for a few good years -- it kind of gave him a rugged look. Contradictory to his rugged features, he looked as if he'd stepped out of some corny 70's era flick. He wore a blue, hawaiian print button-up short sleeve shirt and faded boot-cut blue jeans -- apparently he hadn't reached a mall recently either. "Yeh, you the boy. I think so, you know?" her father questioned further, breaking Felicia's settled concentration.

"No. I don't think I do," he replied arrogantly. She noticed the man also spoke with an accent. She'd heard that very accent many times before while she was away at college in Liberty City. Immediately upon this epiphany she also realized why he was there. He had "business" to take care of with her father, she was sure of it. There was no other reason for such a man to be visiting the cafe; he didn't exactly appear to be the small, family cafe type.

"Oh yeah? You come here, tough guy," her father retorted, nudging the man's shoulder and yet again jolting Felicia from her thoughts. Then he pointed to himself. "You think you can take me on? You think you play stupid with me?" His finger changed direction and pointed itself in the strange mans face. The man stepped forward menacingly, giving Felicia's nerves a good jolt. This man looked dangerous, and her father was blindly playing games with him.

"No, I think you're playing plenty stupid enough for the both of us." _Oh Lord,_ Felicia thought to herself. Even though she was definitely growing nervous, part of her wanted to laugh at this man's pointed yet humorous honesty. However, she knew to her father those were fighting words -- and obviously he was looking for a fight.

"Hey, he call you dumb son." Felicia's grandfather, who had taken a seat shortly after his son stood to greet the stranger, defensively pointed out. Good old grandpa.

"And I call him a little girl, Papi." Her father replied with a tone of humor as he began walking circles around the man who stood silent as this round, aggressive man criticized him. Felicia had to admire his control; had anyone done that to her father he would've shot them -- or at least tried to fight them. Santiago, unlike Felicia or her grandfather, clapped at her father's come-back. The other man laughed as her grandfather just watched. "Look at him, all dressed up like that. What is this, ladies night? You some kind of tough guy, you dress like a woman? You got on panties like a woman too, huh?" Felicia could see the fire blazing in this handsome stranger's brown eyes.

"What you got against women? You prefer men, big boy?" Felicia's eyes widened at this, not so much out of fright but shock. Suggesting any Cuban man not like women is like screwing their wife. It's just not something you do, it could even get you shot. At this, Felicia's father became apparently livid.

"I like women! I like all women! I love my mother, chico!" he returned defensively, stepping closer to the man in an attempt to intimidate him and straightening himself to try to meet him eye to eye. The man lifted his hands in surrender.

"Alright, alright. I'll take your word for it. Relax." The man backed down, probably out of avoidance of a fight more-so than fear. Her father, pleased, backed off and turned around to walk away. When he suddenly turned back as if he'd forgotten something. _Yeah, leave it to dad to forget why he brought the guy here in the first place_.

"Can you drive, amigo?" The man paused, followed by a quick smirk working it's way across his face.

"Yeah... like a woman," he replied with a dry humor. Her father laughed whole heartedly at this, and honestly Felicia tried to hide a smile herself. This man had quite a sense of humor.

"Very funny. I like you, big boy. Maybe you can help. Maybe you can prove you a man, huh?" He pointed out the door towards the bridge straight to the heart of Vice City. "Take out the boat. Show me you got some big cojones, not some little bitty chiquita ones." The man nodded silently and headed out the door while Felicia's father turned to sit back down at his stool. The screeching tires could be heard again, this time fading away into the afternoon, leaving the now confused cafe once again peaceful and quiet. For the moment, anyway.

"I can't understand for the life of me why he would try to pick a fight with a man so obviously dangerous," Felicia laughed to her brother as she ran down the events of the day. The rest of the day after the "Tommy Vercetti" incident had proved fairly uneventful, and now Felicia was on her way home with her brother who'd come to pick her up after her shift. Pepe just laughed.

"You know pop, hermana. His mouth, it moves a little faster than his brain, you know?" Pepe joked, though it was an honest observance. Felicia grinned.

"You mean what's left of it. I think he's killed off more brain cells than he had left to spare, brother." This time they both laughed whole heartedly, followed by an awkward silence as they worked their way closer to the apartments. Pepe was undoubtedly listening for gun-shots or any sign of danger, considering he and his sister were prime targets being the only living offspring of the Cubans' leader. Felicia was just gazing out the window at the star-lit sky -- the little she could see of it through the bright lights of the city. The air was cool and breezy that night, the kind of weather that almost made her stay in Vice City tolerable... almost. It brought back memories of a time when there wasn't so much fighting, when things were at least semi-peaceful... when her mother was still alive. A small sigh escaped Felicia's lips as the slight bump of the car going up over the curb drew her out of her mental reminiscing.

"Okay, hermana, we're home." Felicia didn't know whether she wanted to grin or frown at her brother's apparent relief that they'd made it home not only alive, but safely and in one piece. In the matter of a mere four weeks they'd barely scratched their way out of numerous potentially fatal situations, and Felicia saw countless Cubans fall, all in vain. She didn't then, nor would she ever understand why they felt it was worth it, why ANYBODY felt it was worth it, to give their lives for absolutely nothing. An illusion of family and love. Family holds a funeral for you at your death, mourns for you, and in Felicia's experience, felt happiness for your escape from the hell that was life. The most her father ever did for the fallen Cubans was hold a mass funeral, maybe 15 minutes, and pay half attention at best. Ah, hell, who was she kidding? He barely paid attention at his own wife's funeral, a woman he had loved, or so claimed to, for so many years. The thought of that joke of a funeral made her temples throb. _Son of a--_

"You coming, sis?" Pepe interrupted. Felicia groaned bitterly in response, getting out of the car and following her brother up the steel fire escape to the "secret door." Yes, they could have just gone through the front door, but considering all recent events they decided it safer to "sneak" in. They even got a new car to transport themselves wherever they needed to go, fearing the Haitians would recognize them in a cab or their father's car. They had to take every necessary precaution. Sure, they'd been through countless gang wars, more than anybody should have to face in their lifetime. It was to be expected with a gang leader as temperamental as their father and a city as corrupted as Vice City. But this one was different. For some reason it felt as if it was on a higher level, and everybody felt it. Felicia assumed that was why her father had called in enforcements from New York. This was definitely not just another gang war.

"Pepe," Felicia began, this time pulling herself out of her thoughts. "I'm just going to go to bed, okay?" Pepe nodded as he worked his way to the couch.

"Si, hermana. See you in the morning." Felicia kissed her brother's cheek goodnight and made her way to her bedroom. Once there, she slipped her shoes off and flopped down onto the bed, staring up at the cracked, paint-peeling ceiling. She ran her hands over her face and sighed into them, rubbing her temples to soothe the throbbing pain that hadn't seemed to cease since she'd arrived. Eventually she situated herself until her head rested gently on her pillow. There she let her thoughts go, a whirlpool of emotions, memories, broken promises and lifelong vows swirling through her head.

Something was wrong, Felicia could feel it in her bones. This battle, this full on war could be the end of the Cubans in Vice City. The Haitians were strong, a well established gang with a cool-headed gang leader. Or at least he was. She had no idea of what the new leader was like, but obviously he was nowhere near as cool-headed and wise as the first. But she wasn't sure she could really blame them for attacking. After all, _somebody_ killed him, a man who was probably like a father to most of them, and for some reason they assumed it was the Cubans -- and her father did nothing to thwart that idea. Hell, even she wasn't sure they didn't do it, she had no idea what might go on behind closed doors. Worst of all, the Haitians had that voodoo magic on their side. Her father and brother never believed her that it was real, that she'd seen it with her own eyes; that could have quit possibly been their worst downfall.

Finally, after hours of one enraging thought after another, Felicia's mind settled enough that she could drift into a deep slumber. But unfortunately, even there she couldn't get away from the life that haunted her.

The next day Felicia made it to work early, but even then she was greeted by the warm, welcoming face of her grandfather and the back of a very familiar hawaiian print t-shirt. She was still tired and drowsy though, so much so that at first she hadn't even realized who it was until he turned around to face her. The moment he turned his eyes met hers for a slightly-too-long-to-just-be-a-friendly-glance moment, followed by a quick, sly smirk. Felicia smiled back meekly, suddenly feeling un-characteristically shy. She reached around the counter and grabbed her apron, tying it tightly around her small waist and placing herself in her regular seat at the bar -- considering there were absolutely no customers and the entire café was spick and span -- which was conveniently right next to this handsome man.

"Didn't see you here yesterday," he spoke. Felicia grinned mischievously.

"I can understand that. You usually can't see much past my father." The man chuckled and returned his attention to his coffee. Felicia's grandfather smiled the same mischievous smile as his granddaughter as his eyes darted back and forth between the two. He, with his all-knowing, wise grandfatherness, knew that his son was getting more than her bargained for in this handsome stranger, though few words were exchanged between the two. "So what's your name anyway?"

"Tommy, Tommy Vercetti," he replied, businesslike and professional. Felicia nodded. "So why the visit today? I guess you heard my Poppa's coffee is the best in town." Tommy smiled, returning his deep brown eyes to Felicia's face.

"Umberto has something for me to pick up," he replied matter-of-factly. Felicia scowled, stood up and headed for the restrooms. She'd almost forgotten for a moment why he was there in the first place. It was a foolish question to ask.

The minute she stepped into the bathroom the headed for the sink, turning on the faucet and letting the cool water run over her hands before she cupped them together and brought some of the water to her face, treasuring the cool sensation. Her gaze then lifted to the mirror, examining her haggard looking features. Her dark auburn hair looked stringy and dirty, though it had just been washed that morning. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and her mouth naturally curved itself into a frown, though her lips themselves turned up at the edges. Her entire face was slender and tanned, framed by a few strands of hair that hadn't made it into the ponytail holder that she'd tied her hair up with. Her skin was damp with sweat and her clothes hung limp on her. But still, despite all of that, her chocolate brown eyes sparkled and danced like the stars of the heavens, just like her mother's once had.

Before she could get lost in thought again, however, she heard her father's voice yelling and the muffled voice of the young stranger echoing through the café. Felicia ran out of the bathroom as fast as she could, but by the time she got to the heart of the café it was too late, everybody was gone except for her grandfather who sat watching out the window with wide eyes.

"Poppa, what's wrong?" she asked, making her way to the bar and putting her arm around the old man.

"Oh Nieta, your papa in trouble. We all in trouble." Felicia's eyes grew wide.

"What? What happened? What's going on? You're scaring me Poppa..." Her grandfather placed a wrinkled, worn out hand on her cheek.

"The Haitians, nieta. Your papa getting in over his head, si? He send the boy, uh..."

"Tommy?"

"Si, Tommy. Your papa send him to take care of Haitians. He gonna get him killed, nieta." Felicia stared out of the front windows of the café and sighed, tears stinging her eyes. She clenched her teeth to fight them back and straightened herself out, turning her head away and crossing her arms. One more reason she could never get involved with this man, and one more reason she hated Vice City.

* * *

A/N: Wow yeah, it's been a while. I got REALLY bad writer's block, plus I lost my computer and everything on it about a month or two ago, including Vice City and now I can't get it to reinstall. Which leads me to my next point at hand: You can probably tell (if you pay really close attention) that at the beginning of the chapter it has more of a Vice City-ish feel, but later on it becomes more visual and "original" I guess you'd say. Or maybe that's just the vibe I'm getting. I wrote the first part of chapter four (up to the first set of dashes) before my computer crapped out, so I still had Vice City. But everything from there on out is going to be based solely off of memory unless/until I can get it to reinstall. 

On another note, this chapter turned out REALLY long. I was going to cut it in two but I couldn't find a happy medium. I hope ya'll don't mind, and I appologize for waiting so long to update (for those of you who are following it, I realize since SA came out people are more about Carl than Tommy :(). I hope to have chapter five out VERY soon, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! Also, if you're following my story Three Deadly Fates, don't look for an update on that any time soon. I'm going to be focusing solely on this story for a while, maybe until I actually complete it (which if things keep going like they have with three chapters every 5 months then it'll take about 5 years to finish, hehe). We'll see, but don't look for an update on that any time soon. :P


	5. Chapter Five: How Charming

The knots in Felicia's stomach were so tight it felt as if her whole body might become entangled. She sat quietly at the bar, stone stiff with her head in her hands and a glass of vodka beside her._ No damn wonder dad drinks so much._

Felicia and her grandfather whiled away the rest of the afternoon with Felicia staring coldly out the window and her grandfather reassuring her that everything would be fine. That's how they usually dealt with their problems -- one being determined to not show their fear if their life depended on it, and the other hiding their fears behind consolation and compassion toward others.

As each tried to overcome their battle with anxiety, a cab pulled up in front of the cafe. Pepe and three other Cubans Felicia didn't immediately recognize got out and the driver promptly sped off. Felicia's grandfather stood and greeted the men, escorting them to a comfortable seat at the back of the café. Felicia stayed at her post at the bar, drink in hand and eyes closed tightly.

"Poppa," Pepe began. "If Rico calls, tell him we got the back-up." His grandfather nodded and walked back to the office to wait for the call. Pepe took a seat at the bar next to his sister, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Pepe," she began, downing the last drop of vodka in the glass. "Level with me. What's going on?" Pepe sighed and chewed on his lip. His father had told him that if there was one person in the world that could not be involved in this, it was Felicia. He had already lost her once for dragging her into his lifestyle; he didn't want to lose her again. However, he seemed to have overlooked the fact that she grew up around it, she knew everything almost instinctively.

"Nothing to worry about, hermana. Everything is okay," Pepe half-heartedly consoled. Felicia let out an incredulous laugh and allowed her dark, angry glare to burn through her brother. _Damn him for lying to me._

"You know what, _hermano_," she spat, "I have spent this whole day being told not to worry and that everything is going to be fine. Obviously you have all forgotten that I am not two, I'm _twenty_-two; I happen to _know_ that when people are telling me everything is fine and not to worry that everything is _not_ fine and I _do_ have reason to worry. When the hell did I give you people the idea that I need protection from anything? I want to know what the hell is going on around here and I want to know _now_." Felicia's anger carried all over the café, drawing the attention of everyone inside, including her grandfather as he peeked his head out of the office. She could feel the blood rushing to her face--especially once she saw her brother's wide eyes fixated on hers. She slowly leaned closer to him, lowering her voice and eyes. "You know, Pepe, of all the people I know you were the last person I'd expect to lie to me." Her voice was nearly a whisper and her eyes were fixed intently on his face. Pepe sighed in defeat. He didn't exactly appreciate being called a liar but he couldn't deny her when she said it like that.

"Ok, you win, Felicia. Pop sent some men over to Little Haiti to send the stinking Haitians a message and prove their manliness, you know how it is." Felicia rolled her eyes. _Yeah, I definitely do... over-proud bastards._ "They gonna be coming back with a van with some goods and kill some stinking Haitian pricks on the way. It's gonna be a biiig one. That's all he told me, hermana." Felicia sighed and rubbed her temples. The throbbing pain was returning.

"Wait a minute, you mean they needed outside enforcements for that?"

"Huh? What enforcements?"

"You know, that Tommy Vercetti guy."

The light came on behind his eyes.

"Ohh, yeh, him. I told you hermana, this is gonna be a big one. Besides that, this guy is supposed to be a good gun. Better he be on our side than theirs, no?"

Just as Felicia was about to reply her grandfather rushed out of the office.

"Pepe, Rico call. He ready." Pepe made a motion with his hand to the back of the café and then headed back to the office and the three Cubans moved to the front and stood nervously near the door. Felicia sat straight up in her chair, afraid of what was going to happen next. Hardly two minutes later Pepe returned from the office and like clockwork cab pulled back up outside the café. Pepe whispered something to the men just before they jogged out to the cab and disappeared from sight.

"You're not going with them?" Felicia asked as her brother took a seat next to her. Pepe just shook his head and ordered a cup of coffee. Nothing more on the subject was said for the rest of the afternoon.

--

Hours later, after Pepe had taken a cab home, drunk, and Felicia had whittled away the day trying to stay away from the booze and putting her energy into doing odd jobs around the café, her father wandered in the front door. He sat sullenly down at the bar and sighed, turning his gaze to his exhausted daughter.

"Soo..." he said quietly.

It was Felicia's turn to sigh.

"I know, dad." Her father turned his face away and fixed his gaze on the countertop in front of him. He didn't want her to know. He'd asked... no, he'd _told_ Pepe to leave her out of it.

"Pepe?" It was hardly a question. A silent nod was all the confirmation he needed. "I tell him... I tell him not to tell you. You weren't supposed to be part of it, Felicia." Felicia shook her head and bit down hard on her tongue, biting back a long string of curse words that would make even him blush.

"I'm not stupid. I knew something was wrong. When are you going to realize, Pop? I'm not a little girl anymore." Felicia felt her eyes start to prickle and she swallowed hard. "And even when I was," she said quietly, "I wasn't."

Her father didn't look at her and didn't say anything for a few drawn out minutes.

"I just... you know, I wanna protect you. To me, you always gonna be my li'l girl, hija." This time his eyes were the ones to mist. Felicia turned and stared at him, for the first time since she got there not knowing what to say or how to react. She just stared.

"Ay, my son. You okay." _Oh thank __**God**__,_ she thought. Her grandfather, as always, was the one to save the moment. He came up to his son and took his face in his hands and pulled him into a hug. "Felicia... she, uh, she worry about you, si?" Felicia smiled sheepishly, stood from the barstool and leaned over the counter to grab her belongings--the few she had.

"I'm gonna head home now. Goodnight," she called as she headed for the door.

"Be careful," both men replied in unison. Felicia just waved her hand at them and disappeared into the night.

--

That entire night, once she'd finally fallen asleep, she was plagued by painful nightmares of memories passed. Visions of her mother, her father, her brother... all dying the same horrible, violent deaths. One by one each of them were stripped of their lives by this horrible darkness, leaving only Felicia to bear witness. Just as the darkness began to loom toward her she heard something in the distance; it sounded like... popcorn popping? Her eyes fluttered open and the sound amplified to its true volume. The popcorn wasn't in fact popcorn but the deafening blasts of gunfire going off outside her bedroom window.

_That's a different kind of alarm clock._

As she rose from her bed she glanced over at the clock and started to panic when she saw that it was no longer morning but well into the afternoon. "Oh _damn_," she hissed and hurried to the shower, grabbing a t-shirt and shorts on the way.

Just under a half hour later Felicia snuck into the café and grabbed her apron, tying it gingerly once, twice around her waist. She quickly found a rag, dampened it and began to wipe the counter, working her way down until she was halfway down the block. It didn't really need wiping, but a quick skim over the café and she didn't see her father, so maybe if she looked busy he wouldn't know she had come in hours after she was supposed to. _I guess this is what happens when you force an answer to something you're not supposed to know._

"You're late."

Felicia jumped and wheeled around. Her body went through a strange spasm of tension, relaxation and tension when she turned and locked eyes with her father's hired gun, grinning widely down at her. Once the initial shock and disbelief that she was so nervous she mistook this man's thick accent and smooth voice for her father wore off she smiled half-heartedly back at him.

"And that is your concern how?"

Tommy's grin widened and dimples that hadn't previously been noticeable pressed handsomely into his cheeks.

_Hell, who knows what might be hiding under that mess_.

"Nothing. I just wouldn't want Umberto to sell you to the Haitians in return for brain cells."

Felicia rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips and tried hard to suppress a grin.

"Well, wiseass, were you going to order anything or are you just planning on sitting there and running your big mouth?" She couldn't help herself. Tommy smiled devilishly and lifted the cup he'd be sipping from--right in front of her face. Embarrassment bubbled in her tummy and her cheeks flushed hot. She started aimlessly wiping the counter as if she'd never seen him sitting there, but Tommy's grin never faltered and his eyes never left her face.

"Maybe if certain waitresses weren't too busy telling their customers to shut up they'd notice these things." Felicia stopped and glared at him. Tommy's amusement sparkled in his eyes. "Anyway, I need a refill." He lifted his cup toward her and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

A devilish glint reflected in her eyes.

"It seems that certain waitresses are too busy to serve ignorant big mouthed goons." She didn't wait to see his reaction. She turned away and snaked from behind the counter to work on the booth in the northernmost corner of the café. Tommy muttered something under his breath and served himself a cup of coffee. Rather than returning to his stool he slid into the booth Felicia was wiping down, earning himself a long, hard glare and quite possibly putting him in a dangerous position. After all, there wasn't a bar standing between her and his neck now.

"And you're sitting here because..."

"Because I never really enjoyed holding conversations with people's backs," he replied simply. "It's a good way to stay out of a fight but it gets old fast." Felicia lowered her head, trying to hide the grin that was cracking her glare. Once she felt she had it amply under control she leaned over the table and scraped her fingernail over an unrelenting spot of dried-on food that just didn't seem to want to let go.

"Who said I wanted to hold a conversation with you anyway? Most _sane_ people would have just automatically assumed I was done talking to them when I walked away."

"Well, honey, I'm not most people," he blurted suddenly. Felicia lifted her head so that she looked him straight in the eyes--little surprised her anymore but somehow that caught her unexpectedly off guard. "And I'm definitely not sane," he added with a chuckle. Felicia laughed but rolled her eyes and shook her head. She returned her attention to the unrelenting spot without another word. The last thing she would let him do was _charm_ her guard down.

Suddenly Tommy reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his rough fingertips grazing her cheek. She jerked back and stood straight up, cleared her throat and wiped her hands on her apron.

_Smooth._

"I'm, uh… I have to go do something... because there's something that I, um, need to... I haven't cleaned the bathroom in almost a week, I think I should probably go do that," Felicia fumbled, her eyes darting desperately over the cafe.

_Oh God, I'm just on a roll today._

"You mean you have to do that right now?"

Felicia nodded and grabbed her rag. "Yeah, I have to, sorry. If you need more coffee it's right there," she pointed behind the counter. Tommy laughed, realizing, once the initial shock of rejection wore off, that this was actually pretty humorous.

"You think Umberto would approve of that?" He smirked. Felicia turned and headed for the bathroom without so much as a scowl in his direction. Tommy laughed and watched her walk away… as much as her hated to see her go, he loved to watch her leave.

_That wasn't corny._

A half hour later Felicia emerged from her chambers but neither said anything. She went back behind the bar and wiped the counter yet again -- it seemed like that damned counter could never be clean enough.

Tommy, on the other hand, sat in the same booth rolling a straw flat between his fingers, watching her out of the corner of his eye. There was something attractive about her, something that made him want to talk to her. She was no Mercedes, that was for sure, but there was something there, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Felicia saw Tommy watching her out of the corner of her eye as she stooped before the counter and wiped down the front, which was oddly neglected. She'd always liked Cuban men, perhaps because they were so familiar and available to her, but Tommy had magnetism that Felicia couldn't completely wrap her head around. Maybe it was the danger in his demeanor, or maybe it was because he was, despite--or perhaps because of--his profession, suave and dare she say likable. He made you want to be his friend, even though you were scared to death of him and knew he'd probably sell you to the enemy without a second thought -- for the right price.

"Felicia!" She jumped up and scurried behind the counter like she'd been caught doing something wrong. Tommy turned his head and watched as he took a seat at the bar in front of her. "You OK?" he asked quietly, leaning over the counter toward her. He saw her nod but strained his ears to listen, leaning forward and folding his hands on the tabletop.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Pepe, he say... he say he hear you last night, yelling and everything. He worry about you, you know? And me, I worry too." Felicia swallowed and gave him a small smile.

"Yeah, it's okay. I was just having a bad night, no big deal." Umberto nodded and was about to reply when a large hand clutched his shoulder.

"Umberto, my friend. How are you today?" He was laying it on thick. Felicia raised her eyebrow at him and barely caught the hint of a sympathetic smile on his mouth.

"Tommy! Tommy, my boy. You come see me." A quick pause. "What's wrong?" Tommy laughed.

"Nothing at all. Can't a man visit his friends once in a while without there being an emergency?" Tommy glanced quickly at Felicia and smiled again at her, this time a lingering, friendly smile. Felicia just gawked at him feeling thoroughly confused.

_He's up to something. Hah, I'm not so sure I want to know…_


	6. Chapter Six: A Tragic Shortcut

The rain beat down on the roof of the red Sentinel as Pepe and Felicia made their way back to Little Havana from Downtown Vice City. The majority of the ride was uneventful, perhaps even relaxing, until the highway they traveled down bordered Haitian territory. Felicia sat rigidly in her seat, clutching the small bag lying in her lap and swallowing down the lump of anxiety that formed in her throat. She glanced at the sidewalks bordering either side of the road, both sides dotted with the bright blue Haitian colors.

Suddenly, midway through Little Haiti's section of the highway, the car slowed and began to turn down one of the side streets entering the heart of Little Haiti.

"Pepe, oh my God, what are you doing?" Felicia squeaked, eyes as wide as saucers and mouth gaping. Pepe sighed and barely glanced at his sister.

"Hermana, calm down. This way is quicker." Felicia's heart raced so fast she thought it might just stop altogether but she sat back as calmly as possible and gazed out the window, fearing an argument with her brother would draw dangerous attention to them. Her eyes shifted nervously over the Little Haiti streets, between the small, colorful houses littering them and the inconspicuous people that walked them. They were, Felicia noticed, surprisingly devoid of blue and white clad men, the Haitian soldiers. Her stomach tightened. This seemed unusual, seeing as how Cuban soldiers strode the streets at almost all times.

Then she settled her gaze on the tiny village at the very heart of the town--a small collection of huts woven together with spindly dirt paths and dotted with palm trees. It was a cozy place for the undercover Haitian leader--or manipulator, she should say--to nestle herself.

Just as they passed the quaint village something caught her eye--something light blue and familiar. She could almost swear it was the Hawaiian print shirt that sauntered into her father's Café several times a week. She turned to her brother.

"Pepe, is that..." she began, but stopped. Pepe glanced out over the surrounding area as a reaction but didn't see anything out of the ordinary -- not that he knew what might be out of the ordinary in Little Haiti.

"What?"

Felicia shook her head. "Never mind."

For the rest of the ride they sat in silence, trying not to look suspicious when the dark people of the area looked their way. Felicia's tummy finally relaxed when she recognized Little Havana… then tightened so hard she jerked. There were guns going off all around their apartment building, getting louder the closer they came--and there they were coming from the Haitian side. If either side saw them they would be in extreme danger, and to top it all off the Haitians outnumbered the Cubans by a landslide. It had to have been planned. Felicia and Pepe looked at each other.

"_Oh shit, Pepe…_"

Felicia jumped as a tall, dark man bent down next to her window.

"Ah, you deh big moufed Cuban's pretty little princess, ain't yeh?" he said thickly through the glass. Though Felicia's heart was almost pounding out of her chest and she tasted vomit at the back of her throat she merely looked at him with wide eyes. Another man came around to the other side of the car, glaring hatefully at Pepe.

"Get out da car, foo's," he demanded, yanking at the car handle. Felicia swallowed back another bit of vomit and looked desperately to her brother.

"Pepe," she whispered. The man yanked at the car door again. "Oh my God, Pepe." Her voice trembled. Pepe Stared at her, the wheels in his eyes spinning. He didn't know what to do. She started to shake and turned in her seat. "Pepe, what do we--"

"_GET OUT DA CAR!" _They were getting impatient, banging on the glass and kicking at the door. "Get out da car, yeh Cuban pieces o'shit. Get out or we gonna come in!" Pepe turned to her but before he could even speak the glass shattered with a deafening crash and Felicia felt a strong hand grab at her chest.

"Open da door, bitch," he hissed in her ear. His hot breath on her cheek made her feel sick. She reached for the handle and pulled at it but the door wouldn't open. Her throat trembled as she fought to hold back dry sobs; she pulled harder until she was yanking and tearing at it and it still didn't open. The Haitian laughed and popped the lock. "Now get out."

She pulled at the handle one more time; the sound of the door popping open made her stomach lurch. She fought the urge to try to hit him with it and throw him off, there was no way she'd get away with it, and no way she'd be able to fight off anyone who might be backing him up. He took her arm and dragged her out of the car and over to another man, dressed in all dark blue with a white cap topping his head. He was taller even than the man that held Felicia's arm, and _he_ had to be at least six feet. The tall man grinned sinisterly and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Now now, what da daughter of da Cuban leader doin' in our territory?" he cooed, his accent not quite as thick as the other two. When no response was forthcoming, he grinned a little wider. "My men, dey say dey see you out der', ridin' 'round in ya big red car tryin'a act like nuttin' out da ordinary. Ya fools." Just then three cars pulled up and Cubans poured out, four and five in a car, and surrounded the Haitians that dominated the border. Felicia was just as horrified to see them as she was relieved.

Before the Haitians could even raise their weapons the Cubans opened fire. The two Haitian men holding Felicia and Pepe jumped out of the way and Pepe grabbed Felicia by the arm, pulling her behind the nearest building and out of the way of gunfire. He reached behind his back, pulled out a pistol and handed it to Felicia. She stared at it.

"Here, take this. If any of these Haitian pricks come near you, cap 'em." Felicia looked from the gun to her brother and back to the gun, paralyzed by fear. He shoved the gun into her hand and closed her fingers around it. She tried to pull away, shaking her head and making tears spill onto her cheeks, but he held her there, her fingers wrapped tight around cold metal. "Don't argue with me hermana, please? Just do it. Take it."

Before she could react, before she could protest and hand it back to him or even ask a question he'd run around the back of the building and out of sight. She reflexively clutched the gun, clinging to it, and stared at it through the blur of tears that were falling like raindrops from her eyes. She hated to cry but nothing else seemed right to do, nothing else worked.

Gunfire exploded next to the building near where she stood. She jumped and flung her back against the wall, clasped one hand over her mouth and the other on the handle of the pistol. She could hear footsteps. She looked around frantically, blinking until the tears dissipated, and slipped her finger over the trigger and her thumb over the hammer. Her hand was shaking--her whole body was shaking.

Then he appeared, another dark man dressed in bright blue. He stumbled behind the building to take cover, stooped down and leaned over, looking around the corner. Felicia held the gun out at arms length, her hands still shaking, and backed up along the wall.

He didn't seem to notice her until he heard the click of the hammer and jumped up. A wide, white grin stood out on his dark face and his eyes sparkled with malice as his lifted his gun. Without thinking Felicia opened her mouth and squeezed the trigger until she heard thunder. Through the haze of fear and adrenaline she saw him fall, the deep, dark blue spot on the front of his shirt spreading and spilling red over the hand that clutched it.

In a split second he lifted his gun and Felicia distantly heard another gunshot; blood spattered all over her, on her face and in her mouth. She fell against the building and opened her mouth wider to scream but no sound would come. Her legs gave out and she slid down the wall, the rough stucco painfully scraping her back all the way. She didn't know where the shot came from, whether it was from her gun or his, but she knew she saw blood and her body felt completely numb except for the pain on her back.

The next thing she knew Pepe was upon her but all she was aware of was the warmth of his body and his voice rumbling in the distance. She felt cold and weak but the slow realization dawned on her that it wasn't she who'd taken the bullet, her back hurt and her brother felt warm but she felt no other pain. She looked over herself, she wasn't bleeding. She looked at the Haitian man laying a few yards away; his body was oddly contorted and his forehead was partially blown open, exposing flesh and bone and blood pouring everywhere, his dark eyes were vacant and fixed, pointed at the wall beside her head.

She couldn't hold back anymore, she couldn't take it anymore. Her body convulsed and vomit dribbled down her chin and she sobbed and clung desperately to the warm body hovering over her. She couldn't move otherwise.

Eventually the gunfire slowed and ceased. Felicia could hear footsteps coming but didn't have it in her to panic anymore, she just held onto Pepe tighter. Then she heard a familiar accent.

"Ay man, she ok?" She felt Pepe nod and her body start to rise. She looked over his shoulder to find the speaker and met a pair of concerned brown eyes. Fresh tears clouded her vision and she buried her face in her brother's neck.

"Can you stand, hermana?" he whispered.

"I don't know," she mumbled. "Please, take me home. Just take me home."

--

"Hermana, please, calm down." Pepe sat on the couch watching his sister pace in front of him. "You didn't kill him, I did. It was my gun, you know?"

"_No_," she hissed. "You don't understand. You killed him because of _me_. You killed him because I missed, but if I wasn't so… so… if I was…"

"You didn't miss, Felicia, you hit him. You hit him in the stomach, right in the guts, you hit him. You didn't have time to kill him."

"BUT IF I HAD! You just don't understand," she sank into the chair adjacent to the couch and buried her face in her hands, "you just don't understand." Pepe went to her and wrapped his arms around her, winced when he felt sobs shaking her.

"I do understand, mi amor, I do understand. It's not so easy for me either, you know?" He stroked her hair. "He would have killed you, hermana. I rather he die than my baby sister, you understand?" She sobbed harder.

"But Pepe, I killed… I killed somebody. I shot him… I tasted his blood, Pepe, I… I…"

"Oh Felicia, mi hermana, please don't cry. Please, I… it's my fault. It's all my fault, you know? I never shoulda… I never shoulda taken you there. I shoulda known better."

Felicia pulled away and looked at him when she heard his voice crack. He looked almost as tired and wary as she felt and the sight of tears glistening his red-brimmed eyes made her feel queasy. She swallowed back a fresh wave of tears and took a deep, sighing breath. Pepe cleared his throat.

"You know, Pop called."

"Yeah," she said quietly. He'd wanted them to come in that day but when Pepe told him how hard she was taking things he relented. She'd heard her brother's end of the conversation while she was in the bathroom. To be honest there was a part of her that hoped he would have them come anyway. No matter how angry she got at him he was her father first and foremost and his presence was more of a comfort than she'd like to admit; even so, her brother was an immense comfort himself.

"You hungry?" Felicia shot him a look. "Oh. Ok then."

As Pepe was in the kitchen scrounging around for food in the barren shelves and ice box another image flashed in her mind, the image of the blue Hawaiian print shirt in the little village.

"Hey Pepe?" she called into the kitchen. She heard him grunt a response. "When we were passing the village, you know, in Little Haiti…" Her brother emerged from the kitchen wearing a look she'd rather never see again. Felicia almost recoiled. "Um…"

"What is it, Felicia?"

"Well, I thought," she paused, debating whether or not she should even bring it up, what problems might arise if she did. "Did you… I thought I might've seen Tommy." Pepe's demeanor changed. He watched her intensely now. "I mean, it was raining and we went by pretty fast. I just thought I saw a glimpse of his shirt--"

"Eh, it was probably just some fucking Haitian scumbag. I think it would be easy to mistake their shithead rags for Hawaiian print." Felicia nodded absently and chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Yeah. Yeah, probably." Pepe popped a grape in his mouth.

"I'll keep an eye out," he mumbled to pacify her. "I'm sure is nothing."

--

That night Felicia didn't even bother to try to get any sleep. Pepe had gone to bed shortly after he ate and as she sat up watching nonsense on T.V. and listening to patrolling Cubans chattering in the street she decided she wouldn't let herself cry over this anymore. She hated crying, and she hated herself when she cried. Today was the day that Felicia had irreparably stepped into the territory she fought for years to stay out of. The whole ordeal scared her more than anything, and the idea of a life taken in exchange for her own--

__

No, I'm not going to torture myself over it anymore. I'm not going to think about it, dream about it, or acknowledge it at all. It's just a bad dream that never really happened.

Felicia turned off the television, laid down and drew her legs up under her. Sleep danced at the edges of her mind but would come in, wouldn't take over. She drifted in and out of sleepless consciousness until daybreak, when the apartment darkened so that the only light was the dim, flickering streetlight below. She shifted and turned, stretched out and curled up and when sleep finally came to her Pepe was standing over her shaking her.

"Felicia… Felicia, hermana… speak to me," he called. Felicia slowly opened her eyes and a snort of laughter burst from her lips. His hair was going in one hundred different directions, his cheeks were pink, his eyes were wide and glazed over and he looked like he just swallowed a hairy lemon. "Felicia, you ok?"

When he realized she was laughing and not having fits of seizure he stood straight up and crossed his arms, glaring angrily down at her. "What's funny? I thought you were hurt. I worry for you and you laugh at me." Felicia laughed harder and clutched her sides. Eventually Pepe's face morphed until he was grinning, then chuckling and then laughter bubbled right through him.

"Oh, brother, you should have seen yourself," she squeezed between giggles. They laughed until their sides ached and Felicia almost rolled off the couch. The phone ringing in the next room shocked them both to their senses. They shared a look as Pepe went to it. Hardly a minute later he came back into the room, his face dripping anxiety.

"It was Pop. He say he wants us at the café _now_."

Felicia's stomach twisted into knots again. _I can't believe I don't have an ulcer. _She changed quickly, skipping her morning shower, and went down the fire escape in the back with Pepe. As soon as her foot hit the sandy dirt of the lot she became almost sick with recollection. The entire street had been wiped clean and the bodies taken God knows where, probably to their respective territories for their families to bury. It looked like nothing at all had happened. The car was even parked in its usual spot next to the building, and even it appeared to have been cleaned. Felicia sighed heavily. What did she expect?

In almost no time at all they were pulling up at the café. Felicia got out of the car and stared at it from across the street, nerves tugging and pulling on her emotions. She could make out her father's round figure sitting at the bar talking with her Poppa.

"Well, I guess we go in now." Pepe put his hand on her back and gently nudged her to walk with him. She felt herself moving, walking with her brother, though there was no conscious effort involved.

Pepe stepped through the door first, standing before her protectively, but their father's glare burned right past him and into her eyes. She too stepped into the café and stood next to her brother. She could see he was beyond mad, angrier than she'd seen him in years. This wasn't the time to shy away.

He sat on his stool looking silently between them. A minute passed and nothing was said; another minute passed and still he said nothing. Finally he took a deep breath and hardened his features.

"Why you do it? Why you put yourselves in danger like that, huh? You know, you could have got _killed_, and you get my Cuban men, your brothers, killed. For what! You, you tell me, for what?" He stood from his stool and pointed a finger in both of their faces, one after the other. Pepe put his head down and Felicia wrapped her arms around her stomach. Their father looked at each of them and waited. "Huh?"

"Pop... it was me. I took Felicia that way; she warned me... it was me. I'm sorry." Umberto turned to Pepe and glared at him. He didn't respond, just shook his head and pointed to a cab waiting outside the café.

"We get you a new car, the Haitian pricks know this one. Just be careful." He glared at Pepe angrily even as they walked out the door. When they were safely in the cab he sat down at the bar and shook his head. "Why? Why they do this to me? You mean... you mean it not enough to lose one; I have to lose all three? Why, Papi?" The old man shook his head and let out a sympathetic grunt.

"Do not worry, my son. They be okay."

* * *

A/N: So. It's been awhile. I can't even begin to go over the reasons why it's taken me almost three years to update this--technically longer seeing as this isn't really an _update_ but a rewrite. However, I never lost interest in this story, I just lost my computer and thus all my notes and the part of Chapter Seven I'd already written. I rewrote this hoping to get back into the flow of the story and have already restarted Ch7. I might need help though. I don't have Vice City anymore and can't afford to buy it right now. I remember these missions for the most part and have found a copy of the game script and a couple good walkthroughs, but I'm sure there's still things I'll need. Any, any, any help would be very much appreciated, and I hope to get the new chapter up within the week. XD


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